The Little Colonel in Arizona

by Annie F. Johnston

  CHAPTER III.

  A DAY AT SCHOOL.

  IT was with a most unwilling mind and an unhappy heart that Mary beganher third week at school. In the first place she could not bear to tearherself away from all that was going on at the new house. She wanted tohave a hand in the dear delights of home-making. She wanted to poke thecamp-fire, and dabble in the paste, and watch the walls grow fresh andclean as the paper spread over the old patches. The smell of the freshpaint drew her, and gave her a feeling that there were all sorts ofdelightful possibilities in this region, yet unexplored.

  In the second place, life in the new school was a grievous burden,because the boys, seeing how easily she was teased, found their chiefpleasure in annoying her. She was a trusting little soul, ready tonibble the bait that any trap offered.

  "Never mind! You'll get used to it after awhile," her mother said,consolingly, each evening when she came home with a list of fresh woes."You're tired now from that long walk home. Things will seem betterafter supper." And Joyce would add, "Don't look so doleful, MotherBunch; just remember the vicar, and keep inflexible. Fortune is bound tochange in your favour after awhile." But the third Friday found her asunhappy as the third Monday.

  There were two rooms in the school building, one containing all theprimary classes, the other the grammar grades, where Holland found aplace. Mary had one of the back seats in the primary department, and oneof the highest hooks in the cloak-room, on which to hang her belongings.But this Friday morning she did not leave her lunch-basket in eitherplace.

  She and Patty Ritter, the little girl who sat across the aisle from her,had had an indignation-meeting the day before, and agreed to hide theirbaskets in a hedgerow, so that there could be no possibility of WigSmith's finding them. Salt on one's jelly cake and pepper in one'sapple-pie two days in succession is a little too much to be bornecalmly. Wig Smith's fondness for seasoning other people's lunches wasonly one of his many obnoxious traits.

  "There," said Mary, scanning the horizon anxiously, to see that noprowling boy was in sight. "Nobody would think of looking behind thatprickly cactus for a lunch-basket! We're sure of not going hungryto-day!"

  With their arms around each other, they strolled back to theschoolhouse, taking a roundabout way, with great cunning, to throw WigSmith off the track, in case he should be watching. But theirprecautions were needless this time. Wig had set up a dentist'sestablishment on the steps of the stile, his stock in trade being apocket-knife and a hat full of raw turnips. Nothing could have beenfriendlier than the way he greeted Mary and Patty, insisting that theyeach needed a set of false teeth. Half a dozen of his friends hadalready been fitted out, and stood around, grinning, in order to showthe big white turnip teeth he had fitted over the set provided byNature. As the teeth were cut in irregular shapes, wide square-tippedones alternating with long pointed fangs, and the upper lip had to bedrawn tightly to hold them in place, the effect was so comical that theycould hardly hold the new sets in position for laughing at each other.

  In payment for his work, Wig accepted almost anything that his customershad to offer: marbles, when he could get them, pencils, apples,fish-hooks, even a roll of tin-foil, saved from many chewing-gumpackages, which was all one girl had to trade.

  A search through Mary's orderly pencil-box failed to show anything thathe wanted of hers, but the neatly prepared home lesson which flutteredout of her arithmetic caught his eye. He agreed to make her the teethfor a copy of six problems which he could not solve. Mary had much thehardest part of the bargain, for, sitting on the stile, she patientlycopied long-division sums until the second bell rang, while he turnedoff the teeth with a few masterful strokes of his knife.

  "Let's all put them in as soon as we're done singing, and wear them tillwe recite spelling," he suggested. "It's mighty hard to keep fromchawin' on 'em after they've been in your mouth awhile. Let's see whocan keep them in longest. Every five minutes by the clock, if theteacher isn't lookin', we'll all grin at onct to show that they're stillin."

  Needless to say, the usual Friday morning studiousness did not prevailin the primary room that morning. Too many eyes were watching the clockfor the moment of display to arrive, and when it did arrive, thecoughing and choking that was set up to hide the titters, plainly toldthe teacher that some mischief was afoot. If she could have turned intime to see the distorted faces, she must have laughed too, it was sucha comical sight, but she was trying to explain to a row of stupid littlemathematicians the mysteries of borrowing in subtraction, and alwayslooked up a moment too late.

  Mary Ware, having written every word of her spelling lesson from memory,and compared it with her book to be sure that she knew it, now had aquarter of an hour of leisure. This she devoted to putting her desk inorder. The books were dusted and piled in neat rows. Everything in herpencil-box was examined, and laid back with care, the slate-rag foldedand tucked under the moist sponge. There was another box in her desk. Ithad bunches of violets on it and strips of lace-paper lining the sides.It smelled faintly of the violet soap it had once held. She kept severalconveniences in this, pins, and an extra hair-ribbon in case of loss, acomb, and a little round mirror with a celluloid back, on which wasprinted the advertisement of a Plainsville druggist.

  As she polished the little mirror, the temptation to use it was toogreat to resist. Holding it under the desk, she stretched her lips backas far as possible in a grotesque grin, to show her set of turnip teeth.They looked so funny that she tried it again with variations, rollingher eyes and wrinkling her nose. So absorbed was she that she did notrealize that a silence had fallen in the room, that the recitation hadstopped and all eyes were turned upon her. Then her own name, spoken ina stern tone, startled her so that she bounced in her seat and droppedthe mirror.

  "Why, _Mary Ware_! I'm _astonished_! Come here!"

  Blushing and embarrassed at being called into public notice, Marystumbled up to the platform, and submitted to an examination of hermouth. Then, following orders, she went to the door, and with muchsputtering spat the teeth out into the yard.

  "I'll see you about this after school," remarked the teacher, sternly,as she stumbled back to her seat, overcome by mortification.

  If the teacher had not been so busy watching Mary obey orders, she wouldhave noticed a rapid moving of many jaws along the back row of seats,and a mighty gulping and swallowing, as the other sets of teethdisappeared down the throats of their owners.

  "So this has been the cause of so much disturbance this morning," sheremarked, crossly. "I'm astonished that one of the quietest pupils inthe school should have behaved in such a manner." Then as a precautionshe added, "Is there any one else in the room who has any of theseturnip teeth? Raise your hands if you have."

  Not a hand went up, and every face met Mary's indignant accusing gazewith such an innocent stare that she cried out:

  "Oh, what a story!"

  "Open your mouths," commanded the teacher. "Turn your pockets wrong sideout."

  To Mary's amazement, nobody had so much as a taste of turnip to show,and she stood accused of being the only offender, the only one withjudgment awaiting her after school. With her head on her desk, and herface hidden on her arms, she cried softly all through the spellingrecitation. "It wasn't fair," she sobbed to herself.

  Patty comforted her at recess with half her stick of licorice, andseveral of the other girls crowded around her, begging her to come andplay Bird, and not to mind what the boys said, and not to look aroundwhen Wig Smith mimicked the teacher's manner, and called after her in atantalizing tone, "Why, Mary Ware! I'm _astonished_!"

  Gradually they won her away from her tears, and before recess was overshe was shrieking with the gayest of them as they raced around theschoolhouse to escape the girl who, being "It," personated the "badman."

  As they dropped into their seats at the close of recess, hot andpanting, a boy from the grammar room came in and spoke to the teacher.It was Paul Archer, a boy from New York, whose father had recentlybought a ranch near by. He
held up a string of amber beads, as theteacher asked, "Does this belong to any one in this room?"

  They were beautiful beads. Mary caught her breath as she looked at them."Like drops of rain strung on a sunbeam," she thought, watching themsparkle as he turned and twisted the string. Paul was a big boy, veryclean and very good-looking, and as little Blanche Ellert came up toclaim her necklace, blushing and shaking back her curls, he held it outwith such a polite, dancing-school bow that Mary's romantic little soulwas greatly impressed. She wished that the beautiful beads had beenhers, and that she had lost them, and could have claimed them before thewhole school, and had them surrendered to her in that princely way. Shewould like to lose a ring, she thought, that is, if she had one, or alocket, and have Paul find it, and give it to her before the wholeschool.

  Then she remembered that she had worn her best jacket to school thatmorning, and in the pocket was a handkerchief that had been hung on theSunday-school Christmas-tree for her in Plainsville. It was a littlewhite silk one, embroidered in the corners with sprays offorget-me-nots, blue, with tiny pink buds. What if she should lose thatand Paul should find it, and hold up the pretty thing in sight of allthe school for her to claim?

  As the morning wore on, the thought pleased her more and more. Theprimary grades were dismissed first at noon, so she had time to slip thehandkerchief from her jacket-pocket, tiptoe guiltily into the othercloak-room, and drop it under a certain wide-brimmed felt hat, whichhung on its peg with a jauntier grace than the other caps and sombreroscould boast. It seemed to stare at her in surprise. Half-frightened byher own daring, she tiptoed out again, and ran after Patty, who washunting for her outside.

  "There won't be any salt in our cake and pepper in our pie to-day,"Patty said, confidently, as they strolled off together with their armsaround each other. "Let's get our baskets, and go away off out of sightto eat our dinners. I know the nicest place down by the lateral undersome cottonwood-trees. The water is running to-day."

  "It'll be like having a picnic beside a babbling brook," assented Mary."I love to hear the water gurgle through the water-gate."

  Seated on a freshly hewn log, after a careful survey had convinced themthat no lizards, Gila monsters, or horned toads lurked underneath, thelittle girls opened their baskets, and shook out their napkins. The nextinstant a wail rose from them in unison:

  "Ants! Nasty little black ants! They're over everything!"

  "Just look at my chicken sandwiches," mourned Mary, "and all that lovelygingerbread. They're walking all over it and through it and into it andaround it. There isn't a spot that they haven't touched!"

  "And my mince turnovers," cried Patty. "I brought one for you to-day,too, and a devilled egg. But there isn't a thing in my basket that's fitto eat."

  "Nor mine, either," said Mary, "except the apples. We might wash them inthe lateral."

  "And I'm nearly starved, I'm so hungry," grumbled Patty. "An apple'sbetter than nothing, but it doesn't go very far."

  "It's no use to go and ask Holland for any of his lunch," said Mary. "Bythis time he's gobbled up even the scraps, and busted the bag. He alwaysbrings his in a paper bag, so's there'll be no basket to carry home."

  Cautiously leaning over the bank of the lateral, Mary began dabbling herapple back and forth in the water, and Patty, kneeling beside her,followed her example. Suddenly Patty's apple slipped out of her hand,and she clutched frantically at Mary's arm in her effort to save it, andat the same time keep her balance. Both swayed and fell sideways. Mary'sarm plunged into the water, wetting her sleeve nearly to her shoulder,but, clawing at the earth and long grass with the other hand, shemanaged, after much scrambling, to regain her position.

  Patty, with a scream, rolled over into the water. The ditch was shallow,not more than waist-deep, but as she had fallen full length, she came upsoaking wet. Even her hair dripped muddy little rivers down over herface. There was no more school for Patty that day. As soon as her oldyellow horse could be saddled, she started off on a lope toward dryclothes and a hot dinner.

  Mary looked after her longingly, as she sat with her sleeve held out inthe sun to dry, and slowly munched her one cold apple. She was so hungryand miserable that she wanted to cry, yet this child of nine was aphilosopher in her small way.

  "I'm not having half as bad a time as the old vicar had," she said toherself, "so I won't be a baby. Seems to me, though, that it's abouttime fortune was changing in my favour. Maybe the turn will be when Paulfinds my forget-me-not handkerchief."

  With that time in view, she carefully smoothed the wrinkles out of hersleeve as it dried, and pulled the lace edging into shape around thecuff. Then she combed the front of her hair, and retied the big bows.She was not equal to the task of braiding it herself, but a glance intothe little celluloid mirror satisfied her that she looked neat enough tomarch up before the school when the time should come for her to claimher handkerchief.

  Every time the door opened before the afternoon recess she looked upexpectantly, her cheeks growing red and her heart beating fast. But noPaul appeared, or anybody else who had found anything to be restored toits owner. She began to feel anxious, and to wonder if she would eversee her beloved forget-me-not handkerchief again.

  At recess she dodged back into the hall after every one had passed out,and stole a quick glance into the other cloak-room. The handkerchief wasgone. Somebody had picked it up. Maybe the finder had been too busy tosearch for the owner. It would be brought in before school closed; justbefore dismissal probably. The prospect took part of the sting out ofthe recollection that she was to be kept after school that evening, forthe first time in her life.

  During the last period in the afternoon, the A Geography class alwaysstudied its lesson for next day. Mary specially liked this study, andwith her little primary geography propped up in front of her, carefullylearned every word of description, both large print and small, on thepage devoted to Africa.

  "Your hair is coming undone," whispered the girl behind her. "Let meplait it for you. I love to fool with anybody's hair."

  Mary nodded her consent without turning around, and sat up straight inher seat, so that Jennie could reach it with greater ease. She nevertook her eyes from the page. The teacher, who was putting homelessons on the board for the D Arithmetic to copy, was too busy tonotice Jennie's new occupation.

  "SHE PROCEEDED WITH A JOYFUL HEART TO PAINT THE AFRICANLION"]

  Mary enjoyed the soft touch of Jennie's fingers on her hair. It felt sogood to have it pulled into place with smooth, deft pats here and there.After the bows were tied on, Jennie still continued to play with it,braiding the ends below the ribbon into plaits that grew thinner andthinner, until they ended in points as fine and soft as a camel's-hairpaint-brush. Evidently they suggested brushes to Jennie, for presentlyshe dived into her desk for something quite foreign to school work. Itwas a little palette-shaped card on which were arranged seven cakes ofcheap water-colour paint. The brush attached to the palette had beenlost on Christmas Day, before she had had more than one trial of herskill as an artist.

  The water-bottle, which held the soap-suds devoted to slate-cleaning,stood behind the pile of books in her desk. She drew that out, and,having uncorked it, carefully dipped the end of one of Mary's braidsinto it. Then rubbing it across the cake of red paint, she proceededwith a joyful heart to paint the African lion in her geography the mostbrilliant red that can be imagined.

  Mary, still enjoying the gentle pull, little guessed what a bloody tipswung behind her right shoulder. Then the caressing touch wastransferred to the left braid, and the greenest of green Bedouins,mounted on the most purple of camels, appeared on the picture of theSahara.

  The signal for dismissal, sounding from the principal's room across thehall, surprised both the girls. The time had passed so rapidly. Mary,putting her hand back to feel if her bows were properly tied, suddenlyjerked her right braid forward in alarm. The end was wet, and--was it_blood_ that made it so red? With a horrified expression she clutchedthe other one, and
finding that wet and green, turned squarely around inher seat. She was just in time to see the geography closing on the redlion and green Bedouin, and realized in a flash how Jennie had been"fooling" with her hair.

  Before she could sputter out her indignation, the teacher rapped sharplyon the table for attention. "Will you _please_ come to order, MaryWare?" she said, sternly. "Remember, you are to remain after the othersare dismissed."

  To have been publicly reprimanded twice in one day, to have been keptafter school, to have had one's lunch spoiled by ants, and to have beenleft miserably hungry all afternoon, to have had the shock of a plungealmost to the shoulder in icy water, and the discomfort of having a wetsleeve dried on one's arm, to have had one's hair used as paint-brushes,so that stains were left on the back of the new gingham dress, was toomuch. Mary could keep inflexible no longer. Then she remembered that noone had brought back the forget-me-not handkerchief, and with that tocap her woes, she laid her head down on the desk and sobbed while theothers filed out and left her.

  Usually, Holland found her waiting for him by the stile when the grammargrades were dismissed, but not seeing her there, he forgot all abouther, and dashed on after the boy who tagged him. Then he and George Leehurried on home to set a new gopher-trap they had invented, withoutgiving her a thought. The faithful Patty, who always walked with her asfar as the turn, had not come back to school after her plunge into thelateral. So it came about that when Mary finally put on her hat andjacket in the empty cloak-room, the playground was deserted. As far asher tear-swollen eyes could see up and down the road, not a child was insight. With a sob, she stood a moment on the top step of the stile, thenslowly swinging her lunch-basket, in which there were no scraps asusual to appease her after-school hunger, she started on the long,two-mile walk home.

  It looked later than it really was, for the sun was not shining. She hadgone on a long way, when a sound of hoofs far down the road made herlook back. What she saw made her give another startled glance over hershoulder, and quicken her pace. Half-running, she looked back again. Thesound was coming nearer. So was the rider. Another glance made her standstill, her knees shaking under her; for on the pony was an Indian, abig, stolid buck, with black hair hanging in straight locks over hisshoulders.

  She looked wildly around. Nobody else was in sight, no house anywhere.The biggest man-eating tiger in the jungles could not have terrified herlike the sight of that lone Indian. All the tales that Jack and Hollandhad told for their mutual frightening, all that she had read herself oftortures and cruelties came into her mind. Their name was legion, andthey were startlingly fresh in her memory, for only the evening beforeshe had finished a book called "On the Borders with Crook," and thecapture of the Oatman girls had been repeated in her dreams.

  Sure that the Indian intended to tomahawk her the instant he reachedher, she gave one stifled gasp of terror, and started down the road asfast as her fat little legs could carry her. A few rods farther on herhat flew off, but she was running for her life, and even the handsomesteel buckle that had once been Cousin Kate's could not be rescued atsuch a risk.

  She felt that she was running in a treadmill. Her legs were going up anddown, up and down, faster than they had ever moved before, but sheseemed to be making no progress; she was unable to get past that onespot in the road. And the Indian was coming on nearer and nearer, withdeadly certainty, gaining on her at every breath. She felt that she hadbeen running for a week, that she could not possibly take another step.But with one more frantic glance backward, she gave another scream, anddashed on harder than before.